


Disconnect and Self-Destruct

by hauntedd



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Clones, F/M, Gen, Project Leda & Project Castor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedd/pseuds/hauntedd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s a job—a <i>clone</i>—so he can’t get attached. Lady Liberty would always be his number one girl, just like his father, and his father before him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disconnect and Self-Destruct

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a tattered rose (atr)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atr/gifts).



“America needs you, Paul.”

That’s all it takes from his CO before years of history are rewritten and threads of his life knitted together into an elaborate lie. Instead of a hero, Paul Deirden is now a villain—a _contractor_ —one who has taken lives by friendly fire, at that. They switch the vowels around so an Internet search won’t drag up the truth and Paul makes a mental note to start signing his name Dierden when the paperwork comes through and he begins his new life in Canada, of all places.

The Director of the CIA and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs come in to help brief him, now that the documents are signed and his clearance level has been upped to the highest levels. Paul tries not to act star struck at the sight of Chairman Michael _fucking_ Mullin across the table, but he’s doing a poor job of it. He’s made his mark as an intelligence officer, been briefed a hundred times before—but this is something else entirely. This is the most top secret of the top-secret shit he’s had to deal with over the years and while Paul tries to brace himself, the truth of what he’s being told still leaves him breathless.

Human cloning.

_Shit._

Paul’s never been good at science. He gets the basics, put shit together in a beaker and things blow up. Chemistry and biology were always excuses to flirt with Jenny and Alicia—busty blonde girls with low necklines were always a way to capture his attention. But when there are five guys with the same face all staring back with dead eyes and calculating smirks, Paul wishes he had cared a little more about getting an education and a little less about getting laid.

“How is this even possible?” Paul asks finally, once the fear of being assimilated into the Borg army leaves him.

“You don’t need to worry about that.” One of the soldiers—clones—one of the clones says in a monotone. Shit, they don’t even seem human, just killing machines made flesh and that makes him uncomfortable.

If this goes further, Paul and his brothers in arms are out of a job.

“This is Castor.” His CO begins, as if it’s obvious, as if this is something he should know, that he has always known. “But what we need, Paul, is for you to get us intel on Leda.”

###

After six months on the job as a security guard at a Dyad owned nightclub—Club Neolution, what a stupid name—they call him into a meeting.

“So, Paul, I’ve been reviewing your file and I gotta ask you, is security really what you want to do with your life?” The bearded man, Olivier, asks, making a big show of flipping through a personnel file as if he’s Daddy fucking Warbucks and is about to change little lost Paul’s life.

“It pays the bills.” Paul shrugs, trying to sound noncommittal.

“Barely—you’re renting a shitty one bedroom.” 

Well, the government is renting it for him. And it’s not that shitty—just cozy. Paul knows shitty, and it’s in Kandahar with fifty other guys sweating to death in 100-degree heat under body armor. Shitty is when the stench of body odor and death is so strong it makes you want to throw up. A small one bedroom on the bad side of town isn’t shitty. It’s fucking Canada, not East Los Angeles. 

“I don’t really get where you’re going with this Oliver. Are you giving me a raise?”

Olivier laughs and his creepy assistant Astrid, the one with the contact lens and the rigid posture, smirks. If he didn’t know better he’d think they were extras in some shitty science fiction movie that one of his buddies had on DVD. “No, Paul. We’re giving you a promotion.”

Fucking finally. He knew that deep cover jobs took time—and this one was going to take more time than most, considering what his task was, but Paul is relieved that he is about to do something.

“A promotion?”

Don’t sound too intrigued. Remember your cover.

“Yes—it comes with additional perks. If you’re interested, I need you to sign some paperwork.”

“You need me to sign the paperwork before you can tell me my new job duties?”

“You’re a former military guy. It’s classified.”

Paul wants to roll his eyes, wipe that smug smile off of this guy’s face, but he can’t. Instead he signs the papers Astrid hands him and leans back in his chair. 

“I’m all ears.”

###

Leda, as it turns out, is more complex than he’d anticipated. Unlike Castor, they weren’t raised together—they don’t know one another and it’s all part of some global psychological experiment. He doesn’t know the specifics, not yet but when his promotion comes with a new home and orders to court some girl named Beth Childs Paul can read between the lines.

The project is all compartmentalized and Paul is simply a cog in the greater machine. His role, officially, is _monitor_ and he’s supposed to report back on how Beth feels and thinks. Pretty boring stuff, but at least it’s not watching drunken techno-freaks try to dance to electronica. It may still be a poor vantage point to gain intelligence from but it suits him just fine for now.

He’ll move up the chain eventually. He always does.

They give him two months to get settled into his new (newest) life. She’s a cop, fresh on the force—they’ve told him that much—so the story needs to be firmly in place before he makes contact. It suits him just fine, and he updates his contacts back with the Army about his progress.

“Yeah—I’m in. They want to pimp me out to one of these things.”

“Good. We want regular updates, so every other week you’re to check in until matters stabilize on the ground.”

Fuck. Every two weeks? Olivier and his Bride of Frankenstein only wanted something once a month and to let them know his initial observations after making contact. He’ll have to store that shit in two different encrypted drives, but it should work well enough.

He pours himself a glass of Johnny Walker and rolls it around his tongue, letting it slide down his throat. Tonight’s the night. Dyad hacked it so that they were compatible on eHarmony or some shit and after flirting with her for a couple days and exchanging pictures, she suggests they meet at some Chinese restaurant downtown.

_You seem normal and well adjusted so there’s got to be some mystery there. I’m intrigued. Let’s meet up? I’ve never done this before, but I figure if you’re fucking nuts I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it._

_Is that an invitation? :) See you at 7, you bring the heat, I’ll bring the crazy and we’ll see what happens next._

_Ok jackass. See you at Fungs. You can leave the emoticons at home._

Maybe this won’t be so bad at all.

###

“You’re late. I thought I’d have to set the guys on ya for standing me up.” 

Beth smirks as he slides into the booth. She’s prettier than she’d looked in pictures, long brown hair, and a slight flush to her cheeks. Her eyes twinkle when the light hits them. Beth has the kind of beauty that moves and she carries herself with self-confidence. Paul appreciates this more than anything else. While he still likes blondes and big tits—who doesn’t?--he’s had enough Jennies and Alicias to know that girls who don’t know who they are and where they stand are a fucking nightmare when they get attached.

Beth doesn’t seem like a nightmare. She seems like she could be a lifeboat.

Except she’s a job—a _clone_ —so he can’t get attached. Lady Liberty would always be his number one girl, just like his father, and his father before him. Deirdens always did their duty. 

“Do you threaten all your dates?”

“Just the ones I might like.” There’s an awkward silence after that, a joke gone downhill and Beth laughs to cover her misfire and Paul laughs with her and he notices the tension leave her shoulders.

“I’m flattered. I think.”

“Yeah—so, yeah. Do you watch hockey?”

Paul sighs at her question. So much for the self-confidence thing. Beth was one of those girls the ones who put up some bullshit act to make people think that they have their shit together but really they aren’t sure of any of it. This—thing---asking him about sports first, is a perfect example of that kind of behavior. 

“Not really. Do you?”

Beth visibly relaxes, which is strange. Maybe there was some hockey player once, or maybe she just doesn’t get out much. Either way, Paul files it away for later when he writes his psychological bullshit for Olivier. 

“Sometimes—but I’m more of a football girl myself.”

“I didn’t know Canadians liked football.” He’s interested now. Paul has always loved football, his buddies used to watch the broadcasts when they’d make it overseas, drinking skunked beer and making friendly bets. Football is a conversation he can handle.

“Oh yeah, love it. One of my college buddies plays for the Rough Riders over in Saskatchewan.”

“The Rough Riders?” 

The fuck is a Rough Rider? 

“CFL team. It’s no NFL, but it’s what we’ve got up in the great white north.” Beth smiles and does that thing that he’s seen a bunch of Canadians do where they appear to be apologizing for nothing at all.

“You’re missing out.”

“Yeah? Who’s your team?”

He mulls the question for a second. Should he lie or tell the truth. He guesses it doesn’t really matter, and his blood does bleed black and gold, so Paul chooses to be honest. “The Steelers—dad’s from Pittsburgh.”

“Were you born in Pittsburgh? I hear they wrap babies in terrible towels at birth—it’s a little weird if you ask me, robbing them of their free will.”

“Not my fault that only some of these kids can see the light.”

“So were you?”

He makes a face and she cringes. She knows that whatever she’s asking didn’t come out the right way and she’s probably beating herself up inside. Great, so he was getting paid to hook up with an uptight nutcase. 

“Was I what?”

Beth laughs stiltedly and tries to play it off and maybe, if he hadn’t had a wealth of experience in reading people, he might believe her acting. But Paul knows better, and he knows that she knows enough to know that it’s not going as well as she might have hoped. “Born with a terrible towel wrapped around you?”

“Nah, I was born in Texas. I’m an army brat, so I bleed black and gold without any help from Myron Cope.”

Beth makes a motion to say something else but the waiter interrupts them and Paul has never been so grateful to see someone in his life. It’s not that this is _awkward_ per se, but if he wanted to talk sports, a first date is not the place that he would have picked.

But at least it beats the kids question. He’s had that a time or two.

“So you’re a cop? How’s that.”

“Good, you know, just trying to escape my Dad’s shadow. Born into it—I’m guessing you were too?”

“Yeah. We’ve got that and football in common.”

“Well, it’s a start.” Beth grins and Paul smiles, a real smile this time. He’s gotten in enough to guarantee a second date.

It’s definitely a start.

###

It’s a strange thing, having two masters. Two lives Paul can handle, has handled, but two bosses is something entirely new. So when Olivier orders him to get Beth to move in with him, and his handler back in America tells him that they want more intel on how she currently lives and works he’s not sure how to juggle the two.

“I can’t put this off, I gotta protect my cover.” Paul argues after a week of stalling and ignored phone calls from Olivier on the subject.

“But we need—“

“Yeah more info on how the other half lives. I got it,” Paul interrupts. “Listen, I’ll start getting some video. Nothing crazy, but I can get one of those GoPro things. She likes adventure stuff—not ideal, but within mission parameters.”

“Watch yourself Dierden.”

“They want her in here to have access to testing. I’m still not sure what that means—“

“Whom are you working for? Us or them.”

“I know my orders. I just have to move up the time table—“

“Fine. Get it done,” his CO barks and hangs up the phone. Paul rolls his eyes and lights the candles on his dinner table. He then takes the rolls out of the bag and finishes the layout before Beth comes home.

Paul looks over the spread, pleased with himself. If he weren’t doing this because it’s a job, he might consider himself boyfriend of the year material. Of course, he is doing it for a job, and Beth is far too much of a control freak to be someone that he’d ever move in with, but sometimes it’s nice to pretend. They both understand the whole serve and protect thing, and she does know what a bubble screen is and why they’re so fucking overrated.

“Hey babe,” Paul greets as he hears the door open. He’d left the door unlocked even though she hates it because if anyone were actually coming for him, Paul knows he’s safe. He turns back to his smartphone and orders the GoPro through amazon.ca, irritated about the shipping and duty fees but it is what it is. The American taxpayers will reimburse him and it’s a bit of leverage he has in case things go south with Olivier and his Frankenbride.

“Hey. You cooked?” Beth asks as she pecks him on the cheek. She’s always so clinical in her affections, as if there’s a script to follow. It’s predictable, but once in a while she’ll slip up and do something unexpected.

He likes those moments.

“Nah, paid someone to do it for me. I’m good at grilling and breakfast, best to leave the other stuff to the experts.”

“Smart man,” Beth grins and pours herself a glass of chardonnay while getting him a glass of cab. He doesn’t really like wine, but she likes that he acts like he likes it, so Paul takes it without comment.

“And here I thought you liked me for my body,” Paul jokes. He knows he has to ask her to move in. And he knows that there are _conditions_ attached.

“Eh, it’ll do,” Beth grins, her eyes dancing in the light. “So I was looking for a new place today—“

Paul sighs. He knows she’s been looking, even if she hasn’t told him herself. From what little Olivier told him, they bought her building to get her to move. He’d told his bosses back in DC that and they’d wanted him to keep her there as long as possible to figure out why they were moving Beth.

“Why were you looking for a new place?”

“Some developer bought it. I think they want to refurbish it, build another lululemon or something,” Beth shrugs. “Sucks though, the rent was cheap. I swear between the mountain bike crash and the thing with my apartment, other than meeting you, I’m having a really shitty year.”

“That’s stupid.”

“What, the lululemon or the fact that I have to look for another place?” Beth interrupts, pushing her hair off her face as she slides into a chair and puts some food on her plate.

“Both,” Paul answers, cutting into his meal. “Look, we’ve been together a while now and this place is big enough for both of us.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” Beth asks, her eyes wide and her surprise palpable. So she hadn’t been angling for this when she started in on the apartment stuff. That’s interesting, Paul thinks, making a note to type it up in his reports later. 

“Yeah? Would that be so bad?”

“No. No, that would be great,” she smiles, relieved. “Maybe later I can show you how great it really is.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Beth breathes. He smiles back in spite of himself. She is just a job, she will only ever be a job to him, but it doesn’t mean that he can’t enjoy the perks once in a while.

###

Paul’s never lived with a woman before. He’s always been a soldier first and a man second so it wears on him after a while to hear Beth harp on his inability to pick up after himself, but he stays because he _has to_ and he thinks he does a decent job of hiding his obligations, most of the time.

Both Olivier and his CO love the data he’s giving them on Beth. The videos of her running and being a smartass please the Castor task force more than anything has up until now and they dangle the promise of a promotion out like a carrot if he can pull this shit off.

Olivier, on the other hand, seems a bit too interested in their sex life. Or lack of one, these days. Paul must admit he’s a little worried himself. Ever since April she’s been distancing herself from him. She’s got a second phone that she tries to hide from him and is up at all hours doing whatever shit it is that Beth does for work.

She says it’s some big case she’s working on, high level shit. He offered to help, _once_ , and Beth’d said he couldn’t help her, but if she cracks this thing it might be life changing.

He can see, however, that it’s killing her. Paul knows the signs when someone is in over their head and drowning under the weight of it all, and Beth is sinking quickly. Paul’s not sure when he started to care, but he does—even if he knows that he shouldn’t.

“You’re late,” Paul states upon hearing the door open. It’s nearly midnight and they were supposed to watch the Olympics together. Sports always were always their thing. Now it seems drinking alone is replacing it as a solo pastime. 

“I’m a cop, okay. You knew that when we got together,” Beth snaps, irritated.

“I know, but Beth, you’re barely home,” Paul sighs. He’s already drunk, so he might as well go for it and get it out in the open. “You’re keeping secrets from me, you’re taking pills—“

“For anxiety. I’m taking them for _anxiety_ ,” Beth interrupts before he can say anything else.

“Anxiety, right. You have ten different bottles of shit in the medicine cabinet.”

“I just have a lot on my plate,” Beth explains. God it doesn’t even sound like the Beth that he had been living with for the past year—she just seems dead inside and while Beth was never the kind of girl he’d have seen himself with, Paul at least used to enjoy her company and sense of humor.

Now she’s more of a bitter shrew than anything else.

“This job, it’s just a job, Beth,” Paul tries, his concern evident. He is worried, and while it may not just be for Beth, but also himself, it’s concern nonetheless.

“No. It’s my life!” Beth spits and Paul recoils at the venom in her voice. Beth must have noticed because she starts crying right in front of him. He’s been with her for a year and a half now and yet this is the first time he’s seen her break down and Paul doesn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m such a fuck up—I don’t know why you stay with me,” Beth sobs. Paul gets off the couch and wraps his arms around her not really sure if he’s doing it out of obligation or because he really wants to comfort her.

Maybe it’s a little of both.

###

“Beth shot a civilian,” Paul says into the phone. It’s the first time he’s initiated contact with Olivier, but there’s some line in the monitor-handler protocol that says he’s supposed to call if something big happens. He is following orders—it’s familiar, even if they’re muddied sometimes.

“What are you calling me for?”

“You wanted to know if anything major happened. She’s not handling it well—“

“She’s a police officer, Paul. There are supports in place,” Olivier says and Paul frowns. He seems unconcerned, a little out of sorts. It’s not the response he’d expected given the previous concern, but maybe Olivier serves as an intermediary for multiple clones and this ranks low on the radar at the moment.

“Okay,” Paul says and hangs up the phone before heading back inside to check on her.

“Paul—Paul,” Beth slurs as she swallows another sip of whiskey. She’s been drinking heavier lately, but this is different. This is dangerous.

“What’s happened? What did you take?”

“I don’t know—lots of things,” Beth sighs, her eyes not focusing on anything in particular. Shit.

“You need to stop this Beth,” Paul shouts, scared beyond belief. This is bad. Beth is overdosing. He punches in the emergency number Olivier gave him when he was first promoted and follows the prompts.

“I don’t need to stop anything,” Beth slurs.

“You killed a civilian, you’re trying to kill yourself—“

“Shh. Shh. Don’t say anything else. If you truly love me, you won’t argue with me, you’ll just let me fade away,” Beth whispers, placing a finger to his lips before collapsing against the table.

The ambulance comes and Paul follows. She can think he hates her later, but Beth will not die on his watch. He can give her that much.

###

Beth holds her survival against him. She doesn’t try again, but she barely speaks and starts nitpicking everything he fucking says. It’s exhausting and he finds himself staying at Cody’s (which is code for his other apartment) more often. Paul takes business trips and they fall into a routine of not speaking to one another but not leaving one another, either.

It’s pretty fucked up. But both Olivier and his CO want him to stay the course, so Paul does just that.

He sneaks home early because he wants to be there for the hearing. He doesn’t really want to be there for the hearing—he’s _ordered_ to be there for the hearing. Olivier doesn’t want him to interfere, but he wants him to keep Beth attached.

So Paul plays the good boyfriend.

It’s like she’s alive again, it’s like before, it’s _better_ even. If it weren’t for the Clash t-shirt Paul wouldn’t question a thing, because fucking Beth on the kitchen counter feels better than anything he’s had in months.

She’s learned a few tricks while he’s been gone.

He doesn’t say anything about it to Olivier. He has his suspicions that she might be using again, but he enjoys this version of Beth, so Paul takes what he can get. He’s starting to like _painting by numbers_ and this _hot and cold shit_. It’s a lot more interesting than the last six or eight months have been, anyway.

Taking what’s offered is all he knows how to do. But when his CO calls, Paul answers and the orders change. Playtime, it seems, is over.

“We’re moving up the timetable.”

“What time table?” He’s not sure what the plan is anymore—everything got fucking crazy after Beth shot that woman and then all he heard was radio silence when he tried to make contact.

“Extraction. Try and get the subject to leave with you. We’ll let you know when plans are firmed up on the ground.” his CO says and hangs up the phone before Paul can get in another word.

###

He tries to hint at Rio like it’s a great idea, but Beth isn’t having any of it. She’s different, before she would have cut him down with a couple words, but this woman entertains the idea. It seems far-fetched, but after seeing Castor in the flesh, Paul isn’t willing to throw it out without investigating it a bit further.

Beth is not _Beth_.

It’s not until later, when she comes to bring him lunch and tells him some lie about her scar that Paul knows his suspicions are right. He follows this woman anyway, to gather information, some leverage and then he confronts her, only to have her spin it back on him.

He is the villain, in Sarah’s version of events. He is not a hero; he is not doing this for love of country. But Sarah doesn’t _know_ him. Sarah cannot judge him fairly, but she does it anyway.

_Doctors came and medically examined her in her sleep. And she knew. You’re a plant and she killed herself because the man that she loved turned her whole life into a lie. She knew you didn’t love her and she couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t leave. And then she figured it out._

The way that this woman, that Sarah tells him this cuts him to the core. He hadn’t cared about Beth because he couldn’t, but Paul tried to save her. Even though she hated him for it. So to know that she died _knowing_ that he was a piece of shit wears on him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He spins some story about how he wanted to get Beth away from this—Rio and all of that. Knowing that Sarah isn’t Beth makes it easier to do what he must. To follow orders. Sarah is not Beth, Sarah is not human—maybe if he thinks this long enough, hard enough, Paul will grow to believe it.

But the anger in her eyes and the way that she sneaks out the window only serve to make him want her more. Sarah is real in a way that Beth wasn’t, that Paul isn’t. Paul could lose himself in Sarah and drown his sins in her skin and wash them away. Sarah could save him. Sarah could ruin him. Sarah could compromise the mission.

_What is it that worries you about me?_

Everything.

###

It gets messier the longer they muddy the waters. Sarah investigates and doesn’t keep him in the loop, making plans and changing them without a moment’s notice. Paul finds it only makes him want her more; she’s like a magnet dragging him into her orbit as if it’s always been this way. Always meant to be this way. She always takes and yet Paul finds himself giving parts of himself to Sarah willingly, eagerly. 

She has a part of him, weaving a way into his heart until it’s not just a _job_ anymore. It’s not _America_ anymore. It’s Paul and Sarah and he’s unsure of his next move.

It comes to him after another call with his CO—his orders have changed again and he’s to wait for updated parameters. Sarah doesn’t understand, Sarah can’t understand, but Paul tries when she seeks him out demanding answers after being summoned to Dyad under the guise of a ceasefire.

“You changed the game for everyone when you left me hanging back there.”

Sarah just glares at him. Her anger is different from Beth’s—pure fire, quick to flare up and quick to burn out—but it eats at him just the same. She doesn’t say a word when she leaves without taking the deal.

Paul doesn’t expect her to—in Sarah’s mind Paul has betrayed her. And maybe he has, but Paul’s never been loyal to anyone but his country. He doesn’t know how to be loyal to Sarah; he doesn’t know if that’s what she wants.

He doesn’t know Sarah at all. 

###

Sarah returns later, bloodied and battered, but it’s the dead look in her eye that worries Paul the most. He tries to comfort her, but she slaps him away. She’s not angry anymore, Sarah is resigned, dejected, and Paul hates this most of all.

They stand in silence before he tells her the secrets of his fake life—about Afghanistan and Dyad’s alleged hold on him. He wants to tell her more, to tell her all of it, but Paul cannot do that. There are certain lines you don’t cross.

“You were born outside of their control? What do they really have on you?” He asks, after he’s done with confession. He needs to know why she’s here—Sarah is _free_. She can turn them down.

Sarah doesn’t answer but the fight comes back to her slowly, his words breathing life back into her and after her phone rings and Cosima tells her the truth. Sarah is _property_ and not a _person_. Paul knows her next move, but he asks anyway to be sure.

“What are you going to do?”

“I can’t make a deal.” Sarah answers, daring him to challenge her.

“No. You can’t.” Paul agrees and then presses a button on the elevator panel. “Let me help you.”

“Paul—“

“Please.”

“Okay.” Sarah relents, leaning into him as they find the stairwell. “Help me find a way out.”

They sprint down stairs, his lungs burning in his chest. Sarah rushes ahead (she’s always two steps ahead and just out of each) and Paul runs after her until they’re outside and she’s staring up at him with flushed cheeks and a furrowed brow.

Paul grabs her shoulder and pulls her into him before she can run again. Sarah’s mouth finds his and she presses her lips into him desperately. Paul rakes a hand through her hair as he tries to hang on. He feels like he’s drowning and Sarah is his anchor and yet he knows that once they come up for air, they can’t come back from this.

They can’t come back to this.

“This ends here.” Paul says when they break apart. He expects a fight, but Sarah nods in agreement. She always seems to get it far more than she lets on.

“Yeah. You have to go back up, protect yourself.”

“I can try to do what I can, but—“

“They own you,” she interrupts before he can finish his sentence. 

“But they don’t own you,” Paul says, taking her hand in his. 

“No. They don’t,” Sarah says as she lets go and heads into the shadows. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Paul agrees and heads back inside, trying to think of a lie that he can spin when asked about his role in all of this.

###

Taiwan comes with expectations. They share adjoining rooms and Rachel gives hints that her interest in him is as personal as it is professional. He records the conversations on his iPhone for later distribution and Paul knows whatever information he’s gathering is useful. It doesn’t appear to be about Leda, not directly, but between the stuff about their lobbying efforts on genetic patents and meeting with North Korea, Dyad’s involvement goes deeper than they’d expected.

But when they come back and Daniel is dead, Paul isn’t sure that he’s made the right choice. Rachel is out for blood and maybe he can’t protect her from the inside. Hell, if what Rachel asked him to do is a taste of the kind of power she holds he’s not sure of much other than both he and Sarah are in over their heads.

He calls from the car while Rachel makes whatever call it is that she has to make to buy off a city police officer. It makes sense that they’d have someone on the payroll, Paul thinks, because it was likely originally to hide Beth’s ties to the other clones. It doesn’t bother him any less, knowing there may have been a reason for it. He still believes in laws and government, not corporations. Paul makes a note to try and get the guy’s face later—maybe he can warn Sarah that there are contacts on the inside.

“She’s offered me a promotion within the company,” Paul says into the phone. 

“Who?”

“Rachel. The clone they groomed and kept in house—she’s the most similar to our project,” Paul explains. “I know extraction is still the goal, but I may be able to get more intel by accepting it.”

“No. Your orders have changed. NSA is interested in Dyad’s meetings with the Koreans and wants to know more about any dealings with hostile nations,” his CO says and Paul sighs. He’s saved Sarah or one of her clone friends for a little while, at least. 

But he’s now at more risk than ever.

###

Paul’s new position as Rachel’s monitor affords him a new vantage point, but she’s far less open than any of the others. He isn’t surprised, but it does leave things hanging awkwardly with his folks on the ground that are still salivating at the idea of getting their hands on one of the Leda clones.

She fucks him like a piece of meat. He hates every second of it and he thinks of America, he thinks of Beth, of _Sarah_ as she sinks onto him. But every time she does it, Paul feels like he’s losing a bit of himself.

_You gutless bloody bastard. How many notches are on your clone belt now?_

Sarah’s accusations ring in his ear as he packs up the car and prepares for another round. She’d trusted him, saved him, and now she thinks so little of him that there is no turning back from that. Paul’d known that the second he burst into Felix’s loft, put the gun in his hand, and made the threat. It didn’t matter that the charges never would have stuck. He’d crossed an invisible line all in the name of country and his relationship or whatever it was now with Sarah was the casualty.

_Does it bother you that Sarah has gotten back with the father of her child?_

He thinks about it as he drives behind Siobhan Saddler’s truck, staying far enough back to not trigger Sarah’s suspicions. It’s easier, since she’s not Beth, but he can’t take any chances. It does bother him—it _does_ , but the part of him that craves Sarah like an addict knows that he can never have her given the roles they play in this conspiracy.

But he can protect her. He is protecting her in his own fucked up way. 

Paul stops when they do and watches Sarah go into a church. Helena is still in the car, like a kid, and Paul rolls his eyes. You never leave someone as unpredictable as Helena alone—Sarah should know that by now. But when she leaves the car, Paul considers his options. He’s supposed to spy on Sarah, but Helena in the wild is a risky proposition.

Paul slinks into the dive bar and sits at the counter. He orders a beer, bottled, he doesn’t trust the shit they have on tap and watches as Helena arm wrestles with some hick. It’d be funny, if he didn’t know that she's a fucking serial killer. Or maybe that’s what makes it funny.

He catches a glimpse of the guy sitting next to him and frowns. He knows that face well—Castor is here. They get to talking and he makes up some bullshit lie about how he’s ex-Canadian military, some JTF-2 under orders. 

They seem to understand one another. Military guys always do. And with a few more words they make a deal—Sarah is off the table, but Helena is Mark’s to work with.

Considering Helena is now three guys deep into a bar fight, even if he didn’t know Helena or Sarah, Paul would have known he got the better end of that deal. Since he does know them both, he knows exactly how well he’s made out.

“Good luck with that, Kid,” Paul says as he leaves. He’s laughing to himself about how this idiot will have to deal with Helena and all her shit. And then he gets back into his car and makes the call.

“I made contact with a Castor clone trailing one of the Leda subjects.”

“There are no Castor clones in the wild,” his CO says in response. 

“Not even Mark Rollins? You have a Castor clone infiltrating the Prolethians,” Paul ignores his CO's lie. He needs answers, and with a Castor clone in the situation, it seems more likely that they could get rid of him, tie up all the loose ends.

Paul hasn’t come this far and done this much to end up dead.

“That is not your concern—“

“Right. Sorry. I just felt I would report on the situation.”

“Remember your orders, Dierden. Get the intel, that’s what we need from you now,” his CO states, leaving no room for additional questions.

“Will do,” Paul says into the phone and hangs up. He needs to make a move, and quickly. This is about to go south and while he might care for Sarah and want to protect her, he wants to live more than anything else.

###

Siobhan hunts him down outside the house with Peckham or Duncan or whatever the fuck this man is going by these days. She’d likely known from the second that he arrived that he was there in the driveway, just waiting to talk to Sarah about her next move.

Given the way that his conversation with his boss had gone, Paul thinks that Rio should be firmly back on the table.

Not that it matters now. Siobhan interrupted that effort. She’s dancing around the issue, stating the obvious, likely to gauge what he thinks about his current situation. As she’d said just a minute ago _a man with two masters only answers to himself_.

That’s risky and Siobhan knows it. That much is clear. They talk some more and then, finally, she says something that shows she’s not simply a casual observer but an actual player in this conspiracy.

“Afghanistan would have been for naught.”

He turns toward her, trying to stay calm. If he hadn’t undergone years of training, his panic would be evident. She knows Afghanistan is fake, that it’s all a lie to get him on the inside. “What do you know about that?”

“Paul, in your position, you could use a new friend,” Siobhan smirks over the rim of her travel canteen.

“What kind of friend is that?”

“The kind that can get you out of this bloody mess alive,” Siobhan explains. “That is unless you think the American government is going to run in and save you.”

Paul doesn’t answer her, instead choosing to take a sip of her tea. He figures that’s enough for a woman like Siobhan. She knows how this goes, how this has to go and it unnerves him that for all his time here, she is the one to have figured it all out. But he shouldn’t be surprised—she’s always able to hide her hand until the last second. He wouldn’t want to play poker with her for fucking sure.

“I’ll be in touch. Now go back and wait for my call.”

###

The phone rings as Paul is getting out of the shower. He’s in a safe house that Siobhan set up after things between Rachel and Ethan Duncan went south and his CO stopped taking his calls. He’s a dead man walking and he knows he’s living on borrowed time.

“Paul, I have a proposition for you,” Siobhan says and Paul perks up at the weariness in her voice.

“Okay.”

“I need you to get in touch with your superiors back in America.”

“They’re not taking my calls,” Paul says in response. What is she getting at? She knows that they’ve cut ties with him and there’s likely a hit out for him.

“Believe me when I say, this is a call they’ll want to take,” Siobhan sighs. “I know you’re after a part of Project Leda.”

“Yeah? It’s not like you’re going to hand any of them over to me,” Paul snaps. Siobhan isn’t the type to make that kind of deal, not even when pressed over it. It isn’t in her blood—she said it herself, she’s the _mom_ it’s her role to protect her charges. To protect Leda.

“Plans change.”

“Not that much. You’re not the type, Siobhan,” Paul comments, baiting her. 

“I am when it’s required.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Paul, I am ready to make a deal.”

“What’s happened?” His voice is panicked and his heart is beating wildly in his chest. There’s only a few things Paul knows of that would make Siobhan compromise her moral compass. A few people.

Sarah is in danger.

“Rachel kidnapped Kira and Sarah went in after her,” Siobhan states in a tone she probably thinks is simply matter-of-fact. But Paul can read between the lines, the small hitches in her voice that suggest Siobhan is barely keeping it together under the weight of a threat to both her daughter and her grandkid.

Siobhan always puts family first.

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. I warned her not to—but Sarah doesn’t listen, she doesn’t plan. If she is all right, it won’t be for long,” Siobhan says, resigned. “Rachel is an evil thing, you saw that for yourself.”

He has seen it for himself. He _knows_ it first hand, the way she ruins and taints the things she wants. And Sarah and Kira are what she’s wanted most of all.

“So what’s the play? You’re not going to give me Sarah.”

“Of course not,” Siobhan snaps. “But I’ll give you information. All I need from you is Castor.”

“A clone? You want to trade information for a clone.”

“I’d like to, yes.”

“They’re not going to make the trade for information alone. But you knew that.”

“Worth a try,” Siobhan sighs, exhausted. “I’ll give you information _and Helena_ for both a clone and intel on Castor. But I stay out of this, Paul. You have to capture Helena yourself.”

“Fine. I can get them to grab her if you give me her location.”

“Okay.”

“And this will guarantee Sarah’s freedom?”

“And Kira’s, yes.”

“I’ll make the call,” Paul agrees and hangs up the phone. He sighs and runs a hand over his face before he can think better of it. 

The call is short, but the deal is made. They’re willing to trade information, and some Castor clone named Rudy, for Helena and intel. It disgusts him to see these two traded like prisoners of war, but Paul reminds himself that Helena is a murderer, Rudy is just another face in the clone army.

It doesn’t make looking at himself in the mirror any easier.

But the exchange is done and the meeting point is settled. Sarah and Kira go free and Siobhan serves as collateral as they drive to the air force base. The exchange will be done by military, but if Helena bolts, it’s Siobhan’s life on the line.

“How’re ya feeling about all of this, Major Deirden?”

It’s back to Deirden, now. His cover is no longer necessary, his rank increased. That was the part of this deal that he’d negotiated for himself—if things go to shit later or he needs to step in, he can do it better as a Major. He has a permanent seat at the table.

“I’m not sure,” Paul answers honestly. 

“None of us ever are.” Siobhan observes and gives him a sad smile and a pat on the shoulder. Paul wonders if it’s more for her comfort than his, but it doesn’t really matter in the end. Both of them have done something their not proud of, that they’ll have to live with for the rest of their days. All of it is for Sarah, even if she likely won’t see it that way.

Maybe if he were a different man he’d try and save Helena. Bring her back to Sarah and fight for her heart when it’s clearer than ever that it belongs to Kira, to Felix and he never had a part of it. Hell, even Cal has a bigger part of her than Paul could ever hope to hold onto.

America is the only woman Paul will ever have.

He cheated on her once. But America is the woman he’s married to and he won’t choose anyone over her again. Not Helena. Not Sarah. His country needs him and Paul will continue to answer the call.


End file.
